


The Right Reasons

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Reality TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:44:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4743383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a last-ditch attempt to save his failing career, Chris -- who has never officially come out -- agrees to appear as a contestant on <i>The Bachelorette</i> for publicity. He doesn't expect to last two weeks. And he doesn't want to either... until he meets fellow contestant Darren Criss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation with [Sarah](http://lovetheblazer.tumblr.com/) and written for the CrissColfer Big Bang. My eternal gratitude to [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/) and [Tayler](http://innovatived.tumblr.com/) for the last minute beta, and my apologies for being such a slow writer that the "last minute" part was necessary. ♥
> 
>  **Warnings** : Blowjobs, handjobs, facials, swearing. Probably some inaccuracies about how the filming of _The Bachelorette_ actually works, although I did as much research as I could!
> 
>  **Link to Artwork** : Check out the beautiful artwork by iamklainelocked [here](http://iamklainelocked.tumblr.com/post/128511709501/this-art-was-inspired-by-luckiedees-fic-link-to)!

“So, I think I’ve got something for you,” Alla says when Chris grudgingly picks up the call. Her voice is cheerful, but he can hear the underlying strain in it.

Chris can’t muster up even a shred of genuine enthusiasm. “Yeah? What is it this time? Idiot who can’t get Tupperware out of the cupboard in the next hot infomercial?”

Alla glosses right over it with a chirpy, “Nope! Better.”

“What could possibly be better?” Chris deadpans.

“A prominent spot on a reality TV show.” She reveals the news like a game show hostess announcing a fabulous prize.

Chris blinks and glances down at the ratty t-shirt he hasn’t changed in three days, the laptop he _should_ be using to write (but instead is using to watch a web series about hedgehogs), the dirty dishes scattered around his feet propped on the coffee table. “No one wants to see this reality,” he says. 

She lets out a sharp _ha_ that Chris can’t interpret and rushes on. “No, honeybunch, it’s not like that. There’s a contestant slot on next season’s _Bachelorette_ that’s yours if you want it.” 

“Are they finally doing a gay season?” Chris asks absently, already playing the next video with the volume turned down.

“No. Are you even listening to me?” 

“Of course I am,” he mutters, but something is niggling in his brain, and… wait — _ette_? “Wait, wait, wait. Did you say _Bachelorette_?” 

“I did.”

Chris laughs, actually laughs aloud, brash and sarcastic. “Wow, _hilarious_ joke. Do you actually have any real news or are we done here?”

“That _is_ my real news,” Alla says, no-nonsense. “We’ve been working really hard to make this happen. What do you think?”

“I think you’re fucking crazy.”

“Am I, though?”

Chris slowly sits up and shifts the laptop to the cushion beside him. “Well, yes. Considering that I’m… not the marrying type.” 

“You mean gay?” 

“I mean gay,” Chris says flatly. “You know this. You’ve _known_ this. Why the hell would you —”

“I know it,” Alla cuts him off smoothly, “and you know it, but you never officially came out, you know. In fact, you effectively dodged that question for years because you didn’t want to be typecast.”

“Because _you_ didn’t want me to be typecast,” Chis corrects her under his breath. “I just wanted people to keep their noses out of my personal life.”

He can practically hear her shrug. “Either way. There’s nothing on record that would prevent you from going on the show. So you get your face out there, get your _name_ back out there, make it through the first few rounds of elimination, and get cut. Obviously, there’s not going to be any chemistry there. Voila! Everyone knows who you are again.”

Chris closes his eyes and flops back against the couch. “Does everyone need to know who I am?” he asks. He slides his glasses off and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “I thought we were focusing on my writing now.”

“All right, honey,” Alla says sternly, and there isn’t a trace of humor left in her voice. “The moment has arrived: this is your come to Jesus talk, okay?” 

A little ripple of self-doubt and nerves runs through him as he responds, quietly, “Okay.”

“You may want to focus on your writing, but I’m here to tell you that we won’t be focusing on _anything_ unless you reestablish yourself in the public eye. There was some initial interest in your manuscript — _years_ ago now — because it seemed like you were starting to make a name for yourself. You were marketable. And now you’re not. We had four publishing firms all sniffing around to see what you were up to, and now it’s a crapshoot as to whether they’ll even return a phone call. And refresh my memory, Chris — when we first started working together, what were your career goals? What did you tell me?”

“I —” Chris starts, but Alla keeps talking as if he hadn’t spoken.

“You wanted to author children’s books, get steady acting work, maybe test the waters with a few screenplays. Right? Isn’t that what you told me?”

He feels chastised, scolded, like a little boy about to be told to stand in the corner and think about what he’s done. He hates it. “Yeah,” he grumbles.

“Are any of those things happening for you?”

“…no,” he says, the word spilling out reluctantly after a few seconds.

“No,” Alla confirms, “they’re not. And it’s not for a lack of effort on _our_ parts. We’ve been trying, and you have not. You know that agents and managers are known to drop difficult, unproiftable clients, right? There have been rumblings. So this is it, sweetie; this is the moment. We have lined up this incredible opportunity for you, which you can take advantage of with my help to position it to relaunch your career, or you can finish sliding into obscurity and never achieve any of those dreams. It’s your call.”

Chris sighs, shaking his head a little and casting his eyes to the ceiling. “There has to be some other way. I just can’t believe this is the best way.”

“There _were_ other ways, but those have passed us by,” Alla says. “And lining up something else that would get us this much publicity in one fell swoop is no easy task.”

“What about other reality TV shows?” Chris tries desperately. “There are only a million or so on the air.”

“None that are actually drawing ratings, unless you want to try for _Dancing with the Stars_.”

Chris’s blood runs cold. “No. But there has to be _something_ that doesn’t force me to lie about who I am. I mean — I know I wasn’t exactly _eager_ to come out, but this is _way_ too far in the opposite direction. Not to mention that no one’s going to want to buy children’s books written by the guy who pretended to be straight for a publicity stunt.”

“Hollywood is built on lies. Without lies, it would all collapse,” Alla says, not sounding bothered in the slightest. “And you know what they say — no publicity is bad publicity. People will forget about the crap in time anyway, if they even find out it was all a lie. Hugh Grant was caught with a hooker while he had a girlfriend, remember? I’m not sure anyone else does. And they shouldn’t! It’s water under the bridge. Just like this will be, a year from now, when you’re on tour promoting your best-selling young adult novel.”

“Alla, this just…” He trails off, pinches the bridge of his nose. “It just sounds fucking crazy.”

“So crazy that it must might work?” she asks. 

“Do I have any time to think it over?”

Alla’s voice sounds far too satisfied when she replies, “I need your decision first thing tomorrow morning.”

*

Chris almost backs out so many times. 

Despite the fact that his spot on the show is virtually guaranteed, he has to do a battery of tests and an interview with a producer. After gathering some basic information, she looks at him, her face all artificial concern, and asks, “Chris, your relationship with your parents seems strained; is that one of the reasons you’re so deeply in the closet?” 

His muscles stiffen automatically in defense, but although the question is a bit of a surprise, the tactics aren’t. Alla had mentioned that dealing with the show’s producers would be something akin to psychological warfare. Chris feels himself, as always, rising to the challenge of a mental chess match — this may not be a game he wants to play, but if he has to, he wants to win. He pastes on a thin smile and gives one of his carefully-rehearsed answers. “The fact that I played a gay character on television doesn’t mean I’m gay in real life.” 

The producer tilts her head, and there’s something animalistic about it. Like she’s just playing games before going in for the kill. “We know you’ve had relationships with men in the past.”

And even though he’d known that they’d be digging into his background, Chris feels his blood _boiling_ through his veins. “That also doesn’t automatically make me gay.”

“It doesn’t make you straight either,” she fires back. 

“I guess not,” Chris says, punctuating his non-answer with a shrug. 

When he doesn’t volunteer any more information, the producer adds, “We didn’t uncover any relationships with women.”

“Maybe you didn’t look hard enough,” he replies, unconcerned and lofty.

And then he waits. He expects more: questions, maybe, about who these alleged women are and where to find them; pressure to force him to apply a label to himself. Nothing comes. Instead, the producer hums a quiet _maybe_ and makes a note in Chris’s file. It’s at that moment that Chris becomes convinced that he’s being cast either for drama or to act as first-elimination cannon fodder, and oddly, it strengthens his resolve to be neither. He and his team have a plan: survive two eliminations. They’d all figured that he should be able to do that just by being friendly, and, of course, avoiding being the creepy one who gets completely shitfaced the first night, or the scary one with anger management issues who gets sent home early for fighting with someone. Chris isn’t very concerned on either of those scores. 

He has to sign a contracts and confidentiality agreements that put every thick document he’s ever previously signed to shame. He has to undergo a psychological evaluation and a physical exam, including an STD test. _An STD test_. If they only knew, Chris thinks, how completely unnecessary it is. 

Well, if they knew that, then he probably wouldn’t be admitted on the show at all. Which might not be such a bad thing. In fact, a lot of the time, despite plans and goals and resolve, Chris thinks that would be a very, very good thing. 

But no matter how many times he thinks it, he doesn’t open his mouth to tell the producers or the doctor or the casting director _I’m as gay as they come and I swear this is the dumbest idea anyone has ever had_. The whole thing feels no less insane and disingenuous as time goes on — in fact, it actually feels more so — but then Chris imagines getting dropped by his management team and losing, once and for all, any shred of progress he’d made toward achieving his dreams. The show doesn’t even film for two whole months, and there’s no way he’ll be there for longer than two weeks. What are a couple weeks of humiliation in exchange for getting his career back on track?

None of that helps the way his stomach feels like a tight ball of dread a few weeks later, when he’s sitting in a limousine with five other guys, two of whom are named Andrew. There’s a producer too, and a cameraman hidden behind the blank, staring eye of the camera lens that’s capturing every second of their stilted conversation. Chris isn’t contributing much. Across the car, Drew-Andrew (as opposed to Andy-Andrew) has a goofy hat in his lap, waiting for the moment when he steps out of the limo to put it on for Becca’s amusement. At least two of the other guys have presents ready for her.

Chris had completely forgotten about the stupid gimmicks. He’s supposed to have something ready — a joke or a gift or a gag — but he has nothing, not even anything clever to say, and he’s so tense that all the witty parts of his brain have all shut down, like light switches flipped off. He’ll have to get by on sincerity. He snorts. Or something like that.

The limo draws to a halt, and all the guys crane around to try and get a glimpse of Becca. There are too many heads and shoulders in the way, so Chris doesn’t see much except a flash of wavy blonde hair and sparkly blue dress. There are mutters from the other bachelors in the car, calling her cute and hot and gorgeous. Chris doesn’t even move, and he kind of feels like he might hyperventilate, or that he might just hit the ground running as soon as he steps out of the car. It’s hitting him suddenly how very, very wrong what he’s doing is, because Becca is a _real person_ , and she might actually be here to try and find love, and Chris is just some asshole one step away from being a has-been who’s using her for publicity. Luckily, even if he is being captured on camera, he doesn’t think his anxious expression looks that much different from any of the other men — there’s a definite air of nervous sweat permeating the vehicle.

Chis is slated to be the second to last person out of the limo, and the wait, while one eligible bachelor after another preens and steps into the bright lights outside the car, is torturous. Then it _is_ Chris’s turn: America’s most _ineligible_ bachelor. 

The windows of the limo are tinted, so the lights dazzle him for a moment when he’s finally got his feet on the pavement. He blinks, and refocuses, trying to ignore the cameras and crew members _everywhere_ , and there’s Becca: tiny, shapely, wearing a beautiful dress and a welcoming smile. She does look gorgeous, and she’s doing absolutely nothing for Chris. “Hey there!” she calls. 

Chris clears his throat and spurs himself into action, giving her a twist of a smile and an awkward wave as he steps forward. He doesn’t miss it when she gives him an appreciative up-and-down once over, which is strangely gratifying despite the situation. He knows he looks good in this suit, and he’d been hitting the gym twice as much in preparation for being here. Sadly, he knows the chances are slim that he’s going to get out of here without showing up on national TV shirtless, so he’d wanted to be prepared, even though he’s probably still going to look like an albino string bean next to most of the other guys. “Hi,” he says as he draws close. “I’m Chris.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” she replies, grinning. “I’m Becca.”

“I know,” he says dumbly, and then there’s just silence while she keeps smiling at him expectantly. Oh god, he’s not even going to survive the _night_. He’s not sure if the thought is a concern or a relief. 

Finally, Becca takes pity on him. “You look nervous. Would a hug help?” She opens her arms.

 _Not really_ , Chris thinks, but what he says is, “There’s only one way to find out.” 

The hug is nice. He’s glad she’s wearing heels; it makes it comfortable enough to just wrap his arms around her shoulders. She’s got a strong grip around his torso, and after a few seconds, he realizes that he should probably tuck his head down against her hair, and does. 

Becca gives his back a few swift swipes, then draws back, taking both of his hands in both of hers. “Better?” she asks. 

Chris can feel sweat breaking out on his temples, down his back, under his arms. Flop sweat. He’s fucking it all up already. He feels the weight of the cameras and the sinking sense of disappointment and boredom practically radiating off the clusters of onlookers with their clipboards and walkie-talkies. “I think so,” he manages to reply, tacking on a weak smile.

“So, you look familiar,” she adds, swinging their hands a little.

“Oh!” Chris exclaims, his voice pitching higher. “I — was actually on a TV show a few years ago. It was only on the air for half a season. _Glee_?” He’s not sure why it comes out as a question. He definitely knows the name of the only television show on which he was a regular.

“I think I remember that! I saw a few episodes. Kurt, right?”

He takes the opportunity to crack a terrible joke: “It’s Chris, actually.”

Becca laughs and says, “Well, I can’t wait to hear more about it. I’ll see you inside?”

It’s the moment when he could say everything. End the charade before it begins, even though it’s probably too late to be edited out of the finished product entirely. He could tell her the truth: that he’s every bit as gay as Kurt Hummel was — gayer, maybe, because he’s actually had sex with another man — and that he wishes her the best of luck in her search, but there’s no way it’s ending with him.

He doesn’t. He goes inside. 

He is so not making it through the night. 

*

Inside, there are a lot of people — way more than Chris had been expecting to see — and a _lot_ of booze. The contestants are easy to pick out in their suits, and it looks like two or three limos had unloaded before Chris’s. There are other people milling around too, waiters and camera people and producers and other members of the crew. Someone shoves a tray of champagne flutes under his nose, and Chris accepts one gratefully. He takes one fortifying gulp, but then resigns himself to sipping because he is not going to be _that_ guy. 

A producer skitters up to him, looking supremely unimpressed. “So, you really choked out there,” she says without preamble.

Chris takes a sip of champagne. Then, before he can tilt his glass back down, another one. “It was a little overwhelming,” he finally replies.

“Well, if you want to make it through the rose ceremony tonight, you’re going to have to do something to make an impression.” She tries to make it sound like helpful advice, but Chris knows he’s being goaded, and he barely manages to hide his sour expression. 

He’s not going to rise to her bait, though. “Maybe,” he says, noncommittal. “I just hope I have the chance to talk with her for a little while.” It’s not a lie — if he wants to stick around for a few days, he’s going to have to do at least that much.

“Are you going to tell her more about being on TV before?” the producer presses him. 

Chris shrugs. “If she wants to hear about it.” 

She looks up at him keenly. “Do you think that she might be suspicious about why you’re on the show? Whether you’re here for the right reasons?”

 _Well, she probably should be_ , Chris thinks. To the producer, he says, “I guess I’ll find out when I talk to her.”

A note of frustration flits across her face, and she pauses to listen to something on her earpiece. “Well, she’ll be in after everyone gets here. Why don’t you have a seat?” she suggests, motioning to a nearby couch. “Size up the competition?”

Chris certainly has been, but not in the same way that she means. He’s only human, after all, and it’s not like they try to cast _unattractive_ contestants for the show. He just needs to keep making sure he doesn’t look like he’s blatantly checking anyone out. 

For lack of anything better to do, he does scoot around the edge of the couch and perch awkwardly at one end, trying to pick up the threads of conversation from the group of guys already seated there. He takes one more sip of his champagne, then decides that it might be best to set his glass down for a little while. He stretches out one arm toward the coffee table, not really watching so that he can pretend to be engrossed in the chatter swirling around him. He’s paying so little attention to any of it that he doesn’t even notice that the guy next to him is doing the same — until their hands and glasses collide, sending both half-empty drinks sloshing perilously. 

“Oh god, sorry. I’m sorry —” Chris mutters, righting his glass and setting it aside out of harm’s way.

The other guys just laughs and pulls his drink back to prop it against his knee. “No problem, man. Welcome to the party! My name’s Darren; what’s yours?”

Chris is a little taken aback by the level of enthusiasm he’s facing, but he sticks out a hand to shake and says, “Chris. It’s nice to meet you.” He can’t help but notice that Darren is another definitely-not-unattractive contestant, with a winning smile, huge friendly eyes, and dark curly hair that looks — touchable. _Yankable_ , Chris’s mind supplies unhelpfully, along with accompanying images to demonstrate, and he quickly abandons the thought. 

Darren is still grinning at him, utterly and thankfully unaware of Chris’s perverted internal monologue. “Chris,” he repeats. “What a fucking circus, right?” He takes a swig of whatever he’s drinking. It’s not champagne, that’s for sure, and Chris eyes him a little uneasily, wondering if he’s unwittingly stumbled upon the drinks-way-too-much-on-the-first-night guy.

“Yeah,” Chris finally responds. “I think circus would be an accurate description.” 

“I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this. I mean, did you expect all this?” Darren gestures with his glass toward the room at large.

And Chris can’t exactly say _yes, because my team prepped me for it_ , so he employs his new go-to move: an evasive twitch of his shoulders. “I mean, I always thought there had to be more going on than meets the eye.”

Darren snorts. “A lot more than meets the eye, apparently. Or the camera.”

Speaking of cameras, there’s definitely one pointed right at them. Chris is uncomfortably aware of it, and he can’t seem to stop himself from glancing over and looking into the lens. Finally, the annoyed producer standing beside the cameraman motions for him to look away. “We should probably watch what we’re saying,” Chris comments, “or we’re going to get ourselves in trouble.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Chris says, “I mean — _I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this_? Not exactly the most flattering thing, if you’re talking about Becca, right? It’s all in the editing.”

Darren shoots Chris a mischievous look. “Oh yeah? Well, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this... I mean, I always thought Becca was gorgeous, but I wasn’t expecting to feel such a strong connection so fast.” 

The producer hovering nearby nods approvingly, and the cameraman obviously focuses in on Darren. Chris hides his grimace by grabbing his champagne flute for another sip. “Yeah? You really hit it off?”

“Oh, totally. She’s amazing, and we really clicked, you know? What about you?”

“It was okay,” Chris mutters. “I was kind of nervous though.” That much is definitely not a lie. 

Darren nods wisely. “Completely understandable. She’s totally hot, and then she _smiles_ , and then she opens her mouth and she’s so awesome to talk to? Who _wouldn’t_ be nervous?”

Chris fumbles for something to say, because he’s not sure he can convincingly sell anyone on the idea that he’s _that_ attracted to a woman. Telling some version of the truth still seems like the easiest option, so he settles for, “She looks beautiful tonight. And she was really nice, even in the face of all the stuttering and flop sweat I have to offer.”

“Hey,” Darren says. He nudges Chris and claps a hand briefly over his knee. Chris startles in surprise at the warm pressure of it there, just for a second, before it’s gone. “Don’t stress about it too much. So maybe you don’t get the first impression rose. No biggie, that can only go to one guy. We’ll all get a chance to talk to her more, and there will be plenty of other roses to to around at the rose ceremony. Plus, she’s been on the other side too, right? She knows how fucking weird this all is.” 

The strange thing is that Chris _does_ feel oddly comforted, even though Darren’s reassuring him about the wrong things. He’s about to mutter a confused _thank you_ when there’s a sudden commotion near the entryway. Heads across the room swivel, including Chris’s, to watch a guy enter in a clown costume and full makeup, juggling. The producer who’d been hovering nearby smacks the arm of her cameraman, and they hurry away. 

“Oh my god,” Chris deadpans. 

“Congratulations,” Darren murmurs, leaning over a little so he can speak quietly. “You don’t have to worry anymore about whether you made the worst first impression. I don’t think there’s any way you did, but now you know for sure.” 

“Maybe this guy knows something we don’t?” Chris suggests. “Maybe she really likes clowns?”

Darren starts snickering, still so close that he’s almost laughing into Chris’s shoulder. “Oh yeah, you always hear people talking about how much they love clowns and how clowns aren’t at all terrifying or creepy.” 

“ _Someone’s_ got to like them, right? Otherwise why would there still _be_ clowns?” Chris whispers back. “Unless it’s all some sort of conspiracy.”

“Oh, definitely a conspiracy,” Darren says. His face is bright, like he’s just having so much fun. “Controlling people through fear, obviously. Throw a few clowns out at circuses and movies and TV shows, instill that shit early. Then they can manipulate us for the rest of our lives.”

Chris smirks. “So, am I supposed to be scared of this guy right now then? Who’s responsible for him being here? The Top Secret Federal Bureau of Clowns?” 

“Every new President, on his first day in office learns about two things: the UFOs and the clowns.”

They’re huddled together, cracking up over their ever-more-ridiculous clown theory, when one of the other contestants — Jacob, Chris thinks; he was in Chris’s limo — flops into the chair on Chris’s other side. “Did you see the new guy?” he asks. Out of nowhere, another camera is focused on them.

It kills Chris’s laughter. He nods and says, trying to sound nonchalant and non-judgmental, “The guy in the clown costume? Interesting choice.”

“I thought so too,” Jacob replies, and he sounds a little glum. “Turns out he volunteers at a children’s hospital. He goes in and performs for kids with terminal cancer and shit. Becca loved him, apparently.”

The news sobers Chris even more. “Oh,” he comments eloquently.

“Well, fuck,” Darren adds. “I guess maybe it’s not so creepy after all.”

Chris reaches for his champagne glass again. He’s fucked.

*

The night stretches on interminably.

There’s so much more down time than Chris had expected. It takes _forever_ for the last limo to arrive, and then they film and film and refilm Becca greeting the guys who are in it. Chris isn’t sure what to make of the fact that they captured his arrival all in one take. They probably knew that there was no way to recreate that much awkwardness. 

So they wait. The crew plies them with more alcohol, but Chris passes on a second glass, at least until after he gets his one-on-one time with Becca. As welcome and fortifying as the liquid courage would be, Chris doesn’t want his tongue to be _too_ loose. More guys sit down around them, and Chris tries to act like he’s involved in their chatter with an occasional nod or a laugh, but truth be told, he’s barely keeping track. Darren, still perched at Chris’s side, asks him a few questions specifically, trying to draw him back, but Chris just answers them briefly and allows someone else to take back over the conversation.

Members of the crew swirl around them, occasionally pulling one contestant or another to coax them into giving up sound bites. Chris listens with interest when one of the headsetted producers pulls Darren up and asks, perkily, “So, Darren — first impression rose? What do you think? Got it in the bag?” 

Darren smirks, but all he says is, “I guess we’ll find out, right?”

“It’s gotta be you though, don’t you think?” the producer presses. Over her shoulder, the blank, staring eye of a camera lens stays focused on him.

“I hope so,” he replies guilelessly. “We’ll know soon enough.”

A flicker of irritation passes across the producer’s face. Chris can’t help but be a little impressed at how little Darren is giving away, and how much it’s pissing the producer off. “Did you know that Raymond rode up on a horse?” She nods at someone standing over Darren’s shoulder. “And Luke brought her a puppy. What’ll you do if she gives it to one of them instead?” 

While Chris wonders what happened to the dog, Darren twists around to glance at the other guys, then turns back with a shrug. “Stiff competition,” he comments. “Sounds like good first impressions all around.” 

“Would you agree with that, Chris?” the producer asks, wheeling on him suddenly, the cameraman following smoothly. 

Chris feels his face heat, but he thinks he manages to keep his expression neutral. “I think that nerves were definitely running high,” he says, choosing his words with care. “Hopefully I’ll have the chance to make a better impression later tonight.” There. _There_. If he’s getting a narrative in the first episode, he’s doing his best to shape it: awkward, nervous guy who seems like he’s going to be cut, but (hopefully) isn’t. And then, after a few days, when no chemistry develops, is. 

There’s a sudden burst of activity at the other side of the room, and the producer smacks the cameraman’s arm. They turn away abruptly, and Chris lets out a quiet _whoosh_ of a sigh. Darren shoots him a look. “They’re kind of intense, huh?” 

“And about as subtle as a brick to the skull,” Chris mutters, “with an equal amount of finesse.” To his surprise, Darren responds with a snort of genuine amusement. Chris drops his voice. “What did you do out there anyway?”

“For Becca?”

It’s on the tip of Chris’s tongue to say _no, for Chris Harrison_ , but he bites it back. This is about pretending like he’s interested in Becca, not being a smartass and making jokes about the host of the show. “Yeah. Sounds like she got a horse and a dog — what did you bring her? A hutch of baby bunnies?” 

“No animals, I’m afraid,” Darren replies. “I sang her a song.” He gestures toward a guitar case sitting nearby.

 _Oh_ , so Darren is the douchebag with a guitar type — except Chris isn’t sure if that’s so much a type on _The Bachelorette_ as it is in life. He nods blandly. “What song?”

Darren shakes his head and wrinkles up his nose a little. “Oh, uh — just something I wrote.”

Chris blinks back at him. “You wrote her a song?”

“Sort of, yeah.” Darren’s face is a strange mixture of embarrassment, pride, and pity.

“And then you sang it to her?”

“Yeah.”

Chris is so incredibly fucked.

*

He does get his chance to talk to Becca. She’s going to look great on camera, he can tell: moving easily through the cocktail party with a glass of champagne, the sequins on her dress winking under the lights. They won’t show the moments when she’s standing aside having her makeup retouched, or when she’s talking with her handlers, looking pensive. Chris knows that any less-than-pleasant expressions from the men won’t be treated so kindly.

The guys, for their part, vie admirably for her attention. Darren doesn’t get the first impression rose, but neither does the clown guy. One by one, they all spirit her away for private conversations — most of which occur near the fire pit by the pool, on a bench that _just so happens_ to be perfectly lit for the cameras. Chris realizes before too long that if he doesn’t make an effort, he’s going to be lost in a sea of men clamoring for Becca’s attention — so after they all gather at the window to watch drinks-too-much-on-the-first-night-guy — whose name Chris hasn’t bothered to learn — belly flop into the pool, Chris leans over to Becca and asks, “Would you like to talk for a few minutes?”

She smiles up at him warmly. “I _would_ like that.” 

Their conversation is good, he thinks. Chris talks about California, about how he hasn’t done much acting since he’s been on the show, about his writing. He feels like she _wants_ to ask him about the elephant in the gazebo with the rainbow flag clutched in its trunk, but after a significant pause, what she says is, “So, what are you looking forward to most about being here?”

“Meeting you,” Chris replies automatically, because he knows it’s the right answer.

Becca’s face lights up into a smile, and she coos out an _awwww_ while she covers his hand with her own. Chris forces himself not to flinch. 

“Well,” he adds, leaning over a little like he’s going to tell her a secret, “and maybe the chance to — I don’t know — bungee jump off the U.S. Bank Tower or something.”

Thankfully, Becca seems to take it in the spirit it was intended. “So, you like a little adventure?” she asks, continuing to smile at him, her hand still resting lightly on his. 

“Or a lot,” Chris quips. “I hope you’ll keep me around long enough for us to go on one.” It feels like a lie, but it is another one of his many versions of the truth. If ABC wants to give him the chance to jump out of a plane on their dime, he’s all for it. Becca seems like a willing companion.

“Well, Chris, I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” she teases, but her fingers tighten in a gentle squeeze. “I think we might be able to arrange something.”

Chris manages a passably honest smile, but he escapes soon after, happy to pass Becca off to one of the other guys when he approaches to “steal her away.” He feels… smarmy. Worse — he feels like an asshole. And it isn’t just how he feels; he knows that he actually _is_ a smarmy asshole. But hopefully, he’d done enough to at least survive the night and a few more days. He’d get on camera a few more times, maybe have the chance to go on a date, and then get the fuck out of the mansion, back to his home and his cat and his manuscripts. And if _this_ charade didn’t end up being enough to sell a few of them, well… then he can be relatively sure his career is going to be bungee jumping off the U.S. Bank Tower. Without a rope.

*

The first rose ceremony takes _hours_. Chris wouldn’t have believed how long it dragged on if he — and his increasingly-weary legs — hadn’t been a part of every, single excruciating second. It takes time to set the shot, to adjust the lighting and the cameras, to get the bachelors into a line and shoot them filing into the room, to film Chris Harrison’s greeting. That’s actually the quickest part of the evening — Chris Harrison is a pro and his welcome to the men is done in one easy take. He introduces Becca grandly, and she stands beside the pile of roses with a smile that’s bright, but anxious.

Then, the ceremony starts in earnest. 

It’s torture. And not just because there are twenty-five roses for thirty bachelors, and the five unlucky, rose-less men are headed home as soon as the ceremony is over. 

Becca calls a name or two at a time. Between each rose she distributes, the camera people take reaction shots of the remaining men, then reposition themselves around the room. Becca steps aside from time to time to consult with the producers, one of whom flips open a folder every time she comes near. Chris is amused to realize that she doesn’t even know all of their names, and that she’s referring to their headshots. It’s not enough to hold his interest for long — after the first five names, Chris is sure that any of the distressed reaction shots people see on TV are the result of exhaustion more than anything else. Or maybe because the ready-to-mingle-singles who are actually there to _find love_ are having their anxiety wound up to fever pitch by the long wait. Chris? Is exhausted and bored. He wants his name to be called, because otherwise this whole scheme has been a spectacular waste of his time, but he’s already so weary of the whole thing that he just doesn’t _care_. He watches, mystified, as Darren practically bounces to the front of the room to accept his rose, full of energy from who-knows-where.

Then, after the first dozen names are called, Becca looks straight at him, grins, and says, “Chris.”

Despite the fact that surviving the first rose ceremony had been his goal, Chris knows that his first reaction is one of surprise, and he’s not sure what the cameras or the editing room are going to make of that. He lets his face relax into a relieved smile that’s not entirely fictitious — he’s not going to get much publicity if he doesn’t even make it through the first night, after all. To Becca’s “Chris, will you accept this rose?” he answers, simply, “Yes.” 

Less than an hour later, it’s all over. Half-asleep on his feet, Chris drags his suitcase to the room he’s sharing with several of the other guys. It’s no one he’d talked to much so far, and there’s not much conversation anyway as they all collapse into their beds, the sun already crawling above the horizon to spill in through the window.

*

_Becca Tobin — Video Interview_

“I was surprised to see someone I recognized when Chris stepped out of the limo. He’s been on TV before — I’ve seen his show a few times. That makes me a little nervous. And everyone — like, everyone — assumed he was gay. I know, I know — you can’t make that assumption just because he played a gay character, but… I just hope that Chris is here for the right reasons. I definitely want to take some time to get to know him a little better at the cocktail party tonight.” _Pause_. “He is cute though. And he’s definitely grown up since the last time I saw him.” 

*

_Darren Criss — Video Interview_

“The other guys? I don’t know, man; they seem pretty cool. They’re all pretty [ _beep_ ] tall, right? [ _beep_ ], sorry, you probably don’t want me to swear like that. Anyway, I mean, hopefully later on she’ll get to see that I’m much easier to bring on vacation because I’m travel-sized. I’ll fit right in your suitcase. But no, I think they do seem like a good group of guys, for the most part. I talked to a few of them for a while — Luke, Chris, Jeremy. Definitely some good guys in the group.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find the fic post on tumblr [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/128512829512/the-right-reasons-crisscolfer-fic%22).


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, all Chris wants is to stay holed up in his room with a book — he did shove _Goblet of Fire_ into his suitcase — but he feels like there’s nothing good that can come of it: an antisocial label, more goading from the producers, no screen time and an early exit that would anger his entire team. He does wait out the rest of the guys sharing the room, staying in his bed facing the wall until there’s no one else left. Only then does he get up, take his own turn in the cavernous bathroom, and head to the kitchen for a breakfast of toast and a few scavenged pieces of bacon. 

There’s some unorganized milling around when the food is gone, until a distant cry of “date card!” catches everyone’s attention. They’re rounded up, reassembled in the main large room on couches and chairs and even the floor, then the cameras roll.

One of the contestants that Chris doesn’t remember meeting the previous night stands in front of the group. “Okay,” he announces, ripping open the envelope and slowly, dramatically pulling out the card inside. “Jacob!” There’s a series of good natured groans and cheers. Chris smiles, blandly. “Close your eyes and hold on tight. Love is in the air tonight!” he reads in theatrical tones, before handing the date card Jacob amidst a burst of excited chatter, as the other guys try to figure out what exactly _that_ might mean — skydiving or parasailing or bungee jumping. Chris certainly hadn’t expected to get the first one-on-one date, and he’s happy to be right. He’s not ready, on the second day, for the pressure of going out on a date. With a camera crew. And a woman.

Jacob disappears down the hallway to get ready, and the rest of the bachelors meander out toward the pool. Most of them jump right in, but Chris removes himself to a deck chair and stretches out. He’d already slathered himself in sunscreen as a precaution, but he does wish he’d gone back to his room for the book. Not only would it have kept him occupied, he would have been far less tempted to stare at the other (wet and well-built) contestants. At least his sunglasses offer him some measure of privacy. 

It doesn’t take long before boredom takes over, and he does go back to the house and rummage up some paper and a pen. He’s back in his chair, happily scribbling away, when a shadow falls across the page. “Hey man!” someone chirps in a cheery, familiar, vaguely annoying voice. “What’cha up to?”

Chris twists his neck and squints up at Darren standing over him, grinning and dripping down onto the tiles. “Writing,” Chris answers briefly, because he still feels prickly at the whole situation and it should be perfectly obvious what he’s doing. 

To his credit, Darren just chuckles and drops down to sit on the next chair over. “Duh. But what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Chris says. He’s being billed as an author, of course, and that’s what he’d talked about with Becca, but he doesn’t really feel like getting into the details of the books he’s hoping to get published after he’s made a name for himself by participating in this farce of a show. God, he really needs to cheer up and stop scowling or the cameras are going to descend and paint him even more of an unfriendly loner than he already is. 

“Well, that sounds mysterious,” Darren muses as he gets comfortable. Which apparently entails just… sprawling. Chris sneaks a sideways, behind-his-sunglasses look at the water beading on Darren’s bare chest and his — _wow_ — really muscular legs, and when he realizes that he’s venturing dangerously close to _staring_ , he snaps his eyes back to the paper in front of him. “Is it… detailed plans for your elaborate scheme to be the last man standing?” Darren continues. “Going to take us out one by one?” 

Chris smirks. “As if I would tell you about my secret plans.” 

“So there are secret plans!” Darren says triumphantly. Chris tries not to wince, because yeah there are, but he’s _definitely_ not coughing up anything about those. “You’re going to murder us all one by one, aren’t you?”

“ _Secret_ plans,” Chris reminds him. He makes a show of jotting down a few more words. 

Darren flops his head to the side to look over at Chris, and his eyes are hidden behind dark lenses too. “Fuck, well don’t tell me what you’re planning for me; I like to be surprised. But maybe I can help you with some of the other guys.”

Chris feels his eyebrows tilt up incredulously. “You’re just... volunteering to help me with serial murder?”

“No way!” Darren exclaims with a chuckle. “I’ll let you do all the dirty work. I just have intel. Like — see that guy? Blue shorts?” He inclines his head subtly to indicate a tall, tanned specimen lounging at one side of the pool. “That’s Logan. Deathly afraid of shellfish, so you’d definitely want to work that shit in.”

“Shellfish? …Really?”

“Yup,” Darren confirms.

“Is he allergic or something?”

Darren shakes his head. “He got pinched by a lobster when he was very young. It’s tragic.”

Chris narrows his eyes, even though Darren can’t see it. “Are you shitting me right now?”

With a quick twitch of his shoulders, Darren is grinning again. “I don’t know, man. You’ve got secrets; I’ve got secrets — do you trust me enough to put it in your murder agenda?”

There’s a little twist to the way Darren says it — teasing, playful, challenging — that makes something warm fizz up in Chris’s stomach, no matter how ridiculous or macabre the topic of conversation. _Probably best not to flirt with other guys when you’re a contestant on_ The Bachelorette, he reminds himself, and he forces his answer to come out lightly. “Doesn’t matter if I do or not. I’m not trying for psychological torture here, just to weed out the competition. I’d do something subtle, like poison all the booze.”

“Damn, that’s cold,” Darren says, sounding kind of awed and appreciative. He dramatically eyes the mimosa he’d left sitting on the table beside him. “Should I have someone taste this before I drink it?”

Chris shrugs. “I guess that’s up to you.” 

Darren picks up the glass and extends it briefly towards Chris like he’s giving a toast. “I’m going to choose to trust you,” he announces, “since we’re in this together and all.” He takes a sip of his drink.

“You do realize that you made up this entire conspiracy in your own head, right?”

“It’s not a conspiracy; it’s an _alliance_ ,” Darren corrects him. 

“Wrong show,” Chris quips. 

That doesn’t look like it bothers Darren very much. He gets more comfortable on his deck chair and asks, “So what are you really writing?”

Disappointingly, no lies pop immediately to mind, so Chris goes for vague: “I’m just… outlining some thoughts.”

“Like a journal?”

“No,” Chris says. “Not like a journal.” 

“Then what?”

He asks that question with a kind of annoying persistence that demands a reward, and Chris sighs. “It’s for a book I’m writing, actually.” 

Darren’s head jerks back in Chris’s direction, and Chris can practically see his eyes rounding dramatically behind his sunglasses. “No shit? A book?”

Chris nods. “Yeah. I’m authoring a series of novels for young adults.”

“That is really fucking impressive,” Darren says definitively. “That’s _badass_.”

It’s not the word Chris would have chosen, but he puffs up a little at the praise. And then he changes the subject, because he really doesn’t want to dwell too much on himself. The less he talks about his own life, the easier it is to keep up the facade. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Oh, a lot of shit,” Darren replies easily. “Singing. Songwriting. I played piano at a restaurant for a while, and my friends and I wrote some musicals. Acting, but I haven’t had a ton of luck there. I’d love to be on Broadway someday, but that’s a pipe dream, pretty much.”

Chris arches an eyebrow. “Acting and singing, huh? How do I know you’re here for the right reasons?”

Darren barks out a surprisingly loud laugh. “Oh man, _the right reasons_. I feel like there should be some kind of drinking game for this show with all of these phrases. The right reasons, can I borrow you for a second, _journey_.”

“True,” Chris agrees. “Trying to change the subject?”

“Not at all,” Darren says, just as Chris spots a producer and a cameraman headed their way. He grimaces, which Darren doesn’t notice as he continues to talk. “I like to think I’m here for the right reasons. I’d love to be in a relationship.”

“Hey guys,” the producer chirps, stepping up next to Darren’s chair. The other guy takes a different angle — for a better shot, Chris assumes, one that doesn’t include the producer at all. “What are you doing?”

It’s Darren who answers: “Just relaxing. Shooting the shit.”

“About Becca?” the producer asks, gesturing for the cameraman to adjust his position. “I mean, finally getting to meet her was a huge deal, right? And isn’t she gorgeous?”

“Oh yeah,” Darren says immediately. “She’s super hot. Even better in person than on TV.” There’s not a hint of malice or deceit in his voice. 

Something ugly twists up in Chris’s stomach at the words and Darren’s easy tone, and he mentally chastises himself for forgetting himself and taking things so far so fast in his own mind, when Darren was clearly just joking around with him. Darren signed up for _The Bachelorette_ , for fuck’s sake; there’s a pretty good chance that he’s actually interested in women. Of course, Chris is on the show too, but he considers himself an exception to some sort of rule. The infamous “gay guys don’t go on _The Bachelorette_ ” rule. 

The producer nods, but Chris doesn’t miss the way her eyes go suddenly predatory. “How do you guys feel about Jacob getting the first date? Chris, you seem kind of upset.” 

“I’m not upset,” he says at once, but he know it comes out stiff and unnatural. “Jacob is a great guy. Why wouldn’t Becca choose him for the first date?” 

“I don’t know,” the producer muses, crossing to sit in an empty chair on Chris’s other side. The cameraman swings around behind her. “I think he’s kind of pretentious, don’t you? If I hear him mention Juilliard one more time I’m going to snap.”

Chris honestly cannot believe that people _fall_ for shit like this. It’s as transparent than a windowpane. It’s _more_ transparent than a windowpane. “If Becca likes him, then that’s great. Maybe she likes dancers. Maybe she likes Juilliard.”

“You think she really likes him?” Darren pipes up, and Chris swivels around to shoot him an incredulous look. 

“I guess so,” Chris says slowly. “Otherwise she probably wouldn’t have asked him on the first one-on-one date.”

Darren pulls a face and settles back into his chair. “Yeah, I suppose so. Kinda wish it would have been me. I wonder what they’re doing. Do you remember what the date card said?”

“Uh… something about love being in the air. I think.” 

“Right. So they’re probably on a plane or something. Skydiving maybe?” 

“Could be,” Chris mutters. 

Darren nods thoughtfully. “I don’t know how I’d feel about jumping out of a plane though.” 

“Seriously?” Chris asks, perking up a little. “I’d love to. I never have, but as far as bucket lists go, it’s right up toward the top.”

“My bucket list is more like… sing on a Broadway stage,” Darren says. “And a bunch of weird shit. Like… take a selfie in front of the world’s largest ball of twine.”

“ _That’s_ on your bucket list?”

“No, but it feels like it should be.”

The producer, clearly getting frustrated, interjects, “What about marriage? Is that on either one of your lists?”

Chris bites the inside of his lip, because he has a _lot_ to say on that topic, but it’s neither the time nor the place. Luckily, Darren is quick to speak up again. “Of course. I’d love to get married some day, when I find that special someone.”

“Do you think that could be Becca?” the producer prods. 

Darren shrugs, and Chris is willing to bet that gets edited out, if they use this footage at all. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so,” he points out. 

There’s really no reason for Chris to feel a prickle of irritation hearing him say so.

*

Chris ends up spending most of the afternoon hanging out with Darren. When they don’t have cameras and crew members hanging over their shoulders, directing their conversation, it's actually fun. Alone, they talk about Star Wars and Harry Potter and politics and music. With the producers, Darren talks about how he wouldn’t mind banging Becca and Chris says as little as possible. 

But Chris can’t shake the feeling that there’s something almost flirtatious about the way Darren talks to him when they’re on their own. Maybe that’s just the way Darren is, Chris thinks, or maybe he himself is just really rusty — or desperate. It’s not like it matters anyway, given the circumstances. Chris is just glad there’s something to make the whole experience more tolerable. 

*

“Date card!” Logan’s voice echoes through the house the following day. He appears a second later, brandishing an envelope. Chris regards it warily. He doesn’t exactly _want_ to be on it, but it’s probably for the group date, and he needs to be included to have any hope of really being on screen when the show finally airs. Otherwise he’s invisible, he’s forgotten, he has no narrative — and this entire experience has been an exercise in futility.

Logan rips the card open and reads a list of names, and Chris lets out a little sigh of relief when his own is called. He barely notices who else is going, except to note that Darren is among them. The card itself reads _let’s see which one of you can take my breath away_ , and Chris can’t even imagine what that might mean, because he’s pretty sure ritual strangulation wouldn’t play well on primetime TV. Their handlers, of course, don’t give anything away, just barking out a few instructions about what to wear and that they should meet at the vans in an hour.

They’re shuttled to a different place with a different pool, but Becca is standing alongside this one, wearing another impeccable gown. Chris isn’t sure if the guys are underdressed or she’s overdressed; in the long run, it doesn’t matter, because they’re going to end up changing clothes anyway. The cameras reset, and Becca announces that they’re going to be doing a photoshoot… “with a twist!” she adds after a pregnant pause. Another woman appears; she’s wearing a wetsuit, toting a giant camera, and introduces herself as a conceptual underwater photographer.

 _Sure_ , Chris thinks, _because that sounds like a real career_.

The guys are directed inside to change into dress pants and loose buttoned shifts that seem ill-fitting, but apparently will look great in the pictures. Chris finds himself walking next to Darren as they file back out to the pool, and he notices that Darren’s practically drowning in his white linen shirt and walking on the hems of his black trousers. Chris bites back a smirk, but Darren catches it. “Yeah,” he says, “I know, I’m a tiny little dude.” He beams over, and — look. Chris is only human, and not only is he human, he’s a gay man, and Darren is an attractive guy. He looks great in black and white, and his grin lights up his face, and Chris smiles stupidly back for a second before he shakes himself out of it, because it’s still not the time or the place. It could hardly be less the time or the place. 

“Well, don’t tell Becca that,” he quips, refocusing.

Darren snorts. “Hey now, don’t go judging a book by its cover,” he fires back with a wink, and that — draws Chris up short. It seems like an odd thing to say, or an odd way to say it, because it doesn’t feel like it’s a comment that’s rooted in some sort of weird penis envy inferiority complex. No, Chris feels more and more like he actually is being flirted with. 

They’re back out in front of the cameras before he can finish processing and respond, and he and Darren get shuffled apart as they line back up alongside the pool. Luke is selected to go first, and he and Becca, along with the photographer, hop into the pool to get started. It becomes quickly and readily apparent that the date is going to be pretty boring for the rest of the guys who are waiting. They’re stationed behind the photographer’s assistant, and she’s seated at a monitor that flashes the images being taken underwater. That’s interesting to watch for a little while. The pictures are either pretty and flowy or awkward as hell, but Chris loses interest in it quickly, even more so when he realizes the whole thing is set up for drama. There’s a camera there to capture their every reaction, and producers milling around to ask them leading questions like, “Wow, don’t they look great?” and “These two have awesome chemistry. Are you worried about it?”

Chris gives noncommittal answers and watches what the other guys do, because he’s not sure what his plan of attack is going to be once he hits the pool. So far, no one has had the guts to plant one on her underwater, and Chris certainly isn’t going to be the one who does. Becca switches dresses after every other bachelor, and then it’s Darren’s turn. Suddenly, Chris finds the monitor a little more interesting again, and he angles himself so that he can watch it with a casually disdainful eye. 

In shimmering green, Becca looks like a mermaid. She and Darren sink to the bottom of the pool, and when she swims close, he pulls her through the water, across and into his arms, and presses a kiss to her cheek as her dress trails out behind her. It’s an awesome picture — maybe the best one so far — and Chris does his best to dismiss the tiny gnawing feeling in his stomach that feels a little bit like jealousy. His stomach has been in knots for weeks. It’s probably just an ulcer, finally asserting himself. 

Becca and Darren resurface in the pool, laughing. Maybe it’s an ulcer, and maybe it’s not, but Chris is definitely glaring, and he’s sure there’s a camera capturing his sour expression. He’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. _Screen time_ , he reminds himself. _Screen time is good_.

They take a few more pictures, but none are anywhere near as magical as the spontaneity of the first. Then Darren boosts himself out of the pool and shakes out his hair like a dog — Becca squeals and ducks back, even though she’s already soaking wet. Chris looks at, then away from the way Darren’s shirt is clinging damp and see-through to his chest, the way his heavy, water-logged pants are dragging down his hips. 

Later, when Chris does get his turn in the pool, he learns that being an underwater model isn’t at all easy or graceful. He feels like he’s drowning for most of it, and he’s pretty sure that he’s making ridiculous, twisted-up faces in every shot. He has no idea how Becca is still having any fun, but she still smiles and laughs every time they surface, so she’s either enjoying herself or doing a really good job faking it. They duck under a few times and pose with Chris dipping Becca while she kicks her feet up under the flowing yellow skirt of her dress. 

It’s over faster than Chris had expected. He drags himself out of the water and slogs back along the edge of the pool, dripping and disheveled. He feels like everyone’s eyes are on him, but when he looks over at the guys, it’s only Darren. Not only is he watching Chris approach, but he’s peeled off from the other guys to take a few steps in Chris’s direction. “Your pictures looked awesome, man!” Darren exclaims when Chris gets close enough. “Seriously, you looked really fucking good.”

Chris accepts a towel from a nearby crew member. “Uh… thanks.” 

Well, that was weird.

*

No weirder than when Darren attaches himself to Chris’s side the moment they’re all dried off and changed and moving on to the next portion of the date: drinks at the poolside bar. Chris eyes Darren warily while he accepts his glass, then blurts out, “Don’t you want to go talk to Becca?” before he can think better of it.

“She’s off with Jeremy,” Darren says, and he doesn’t sound all that bothered. 

“Oh.” Chris knows that one of the ever-present cameras is capturing their conversation. “Don’t you want to get some time with her?”

Darren shoots him a strange look. “Of course. I’m sure we’ll all get a chance. Don’t be so nervous. She’s not going to hang out with Jeremy for the entire night.” He takes a sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” Chris says unenthusiastically. “I guess not.”

“In the meantime, tell me more about your books!” Darren lights up visibly at his own suggestion. He gestures toward Chris with his glass. “Where did you come up with that shit? I mean, a whole _series_ , fucking wow.” 

Chris can’t help it: he preens a little. “Oh, well — I first had the idea when I was a kid. Maybe nine or ten? I didn’t really have the vocabulary to do it justice then, so I had to wait a while to actually write it.” 

Darren’s eyes bulge. “No shit? Dude, when I was ten, I was — I don’t know, watching _Power Rangers_ or some shit. I definitely wasn’t writing a fucking book series.”

“Technically, I wasn’t either,” Chris says with a snort. “And I guarantee you I was watching plenty of _Power Rangers_ too.”

“Yeah?” Darren asks, grinning.

“Oh, I loved it,” Chris confirms. “My first crush was the Pink Power Ranger.” He cuts himself off abruptly, because usually the punchline to that joke is something like _my how things have changed_. He tries to cover the odd, abrupt pause by taking a sip of his drink.

Darren chuckles. “Yeah, she was hot.” 

They recover pretty quickly after that, continuing to compare the TV shows and movies they’d watched as kids. Darren is a couple years older than Chris, but there’s enough overlap to keep things interesting. The conversation spirals out lazily from there, so engrossing that it feels like an intrusion when they take turns spending one-on-one time with Becca. At least to Chris it does — Darren goes cheerfully enough, so it’s hard to tell if he feel the same prickle of annoyance at the interruption.

*

_Darren Criss — Video Interview_

“I had a blast on the group date; that was a rad idea. The pictures all turned out really cool too. I was being a gentleman and didn’t go in for the full-on kiss, but I think ours still looked pretty good. What about that one with Chris — where he was on the bottom of the pool and he dipped her? _That_ was [ _beep_ ] awesome!” 

*

The next few days aren’t much different. Being cooped up in the house with no access to the outside world is wearing, and most of the other guys are obnoxious, but Chris spends most of his time with Darren and it makes the whole thing surprisingly tolerable. Chris is glad that there’s something to distract him, because he survives the second rose ceremony, so there are at least a few more Bachelor mansion days in his future. 

He’s still confused, though, because Darren is almost definitely flirting with him on a near-constant basis. At least, Chris thinks he is. If they had been hanging out literally anywhere else — a bar, the dog park, the laundromat, _literally anywhere else_ — Chris would have felt sure of it. He thinks the other guys are starting to notice too, or at least they’re getting curious (or suspicious) about the amount of time he and Darren are spending in each other’s company and apart from the rest of the group. There are looks, and there are comments, but Darren doesn’t seem to catch them. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care, because even though he’s friendly with the other guys, he’s _friendlier_ with Chris. He just keeps singling Chris out, sitting too close, and looking at him with a particular kind of bright-eyed enthusiasm.

Chris is enjoying himself, but it makes him nervous too. Darren’s hot, and they have a lot in common, and he makes it so, so easy for Chris to blow his own cover. (Because he definitely wouldn’t mind the opportunity for some blowing, one way or the other, he thinks wryly to himself when he’s curled in his bed under the cover of darkness, half-hard and thinking about it.) He’s tripping up more and more often, flirting back — if he’s even being flirted with in the first place, that is — and forgetting the fact that he has to put on an act for the omnipresent cameras.

Then, Becca throws him a curve ball.

*

_Becca Tobin — Video Interview_

“I decided to invite Chris on a one-on-one date to try and learn a little bit more about him. We had a great conversation during the cocktail party on the first night, and we had a good time together on the group date, but… I have to admit that I’m still a little nervous about his motives for being here. I know he said he’s focusing on his writing now, but he _was_ an actor. He lives here in LA, so maybe he’s still trying to make it big. I’d like to make sure that he’s interested in… well, me. And by me, I mean women. And me, specifically, as a woman.”

*

Chris is so nervous that it feels like he’s going on his first date. Which makes sense, because, in a way, he is: it’s his first actual adult date with a woman. _There really_ is _a first time for everything_ , he thinks to himself wryly, as the van gets closer to… whatever their destination is. The date card had said something about taking their love to new heights, but unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like skydiving is in the cards. So far, they’re just making their way through the streets of Los Angeles. Becca, he’s been informed, will meet him _there_. Wherever _there_ is.

It ends up being a hotel, which would freak Chris out even more if he didn’t already know that it’s way too early in the show for overnight dates. While the van parks, the producer who’s apparently in charge of the date explains to Chris that the first thing they’ll do is shoot he and Becca meeting each other on the sidewalk, then it’ll be on to the rest of the date. Chris tries again to find out what they’re going to be doing, but she stays mum.

Becca is already waiting when they pile out of the van, and she greets Chris and everyone else cheerfully. Chris is almost used to the _un_ reality of it all as they back up to opposite sides of the same block so that the crew can get footage of them walking towards each other, smiling. Chris’s heart is pounding and he feels sick with nerves when they come face-to-face in front of the building. This is it: the biggest deception of all. The cameras continue to roll. 

“Hey,” Becca greets him warmly, then steps forward to give him a hug. “It’s so nice to see you. You look great!”

Chris is dressed casually, as he’d been instructed, just skinny jeans and a t-shirt, so he has no idea if that’s genuine or not. “Thanks,” he says as she pulls away. “Um, so do you.” She’s actually in athletic gear, and it’s getting Chris no closer to figuring out what they’re doing on this mystery date, because right now it seems like maybe she’s going to run wind sprints while he watches. “What are we doing today, anyway?”

Becca turns to glance up toward the top of the building. “We’re going to go up there,” she announces with a grin, squinting against the sun in her eyes. 

“Okay,” Chris says slowly. _Take our love to new heights_. It makes sense. 

“And then we’re going to come back down,” she finishes. 

“I’m guessing we’re not taking the elevator,” Chris quips. 

Becca smiles wider, and confirms it: “We are _not_ taking the elevator.” 

Chris’s curiosity is definitely piqued, and that’s exactly when they cut filming. “Okay!” the producer calls, shading her eyes and nudging the cameraman a few steps to the side. “Chris, we need a better reaction shot, and then we’ll head on up.”

“But wait,” Chris says, “what are we doing?” He looks at Becca, looks at the building, squinting in the bright sunshine that’s being thrown back at him from the mirrored windows. They’d been asked — ordered, more accurately — to remove their sunglasses before the cameras started rolling. 

Becca tucks her hair behind her ear. Her eyes are narrowed uncomfortably too, but she manages to look friendly anyway. She’s going to look great on TV, Chris can already tell. He wishes he could say the same for himself, for his wrinkled-up face already pinking in the sun. “You’ll see when we get up there,” she says. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“We’re wasting time,” the producer cuts in sharply. “Becca, can you repeat the last thing you said? About the elevator? And Chris, stronger reaction, okay? Try to look more… intrigued.”

 _Reality TV, my ass_ , Chris thinks, not for the first time. To Becca, he mutters, “That _was_ my intrigued face.” 

She lets out a quiet chuckle, then turns to face him fully again, beaming as she repeats herself: “We are _not_ taking the elevator.” 

Chris dramatically raises his eyebrows and swivels his head, looking up at the roof with an overexaggerated, perplexed frown. Becca laughs again, and Chris feels completely ridiculous, but the producer shouts, “Great! Perfect, that’s great. Let’s head up to the roof.” 

So far, it’s been nothing like a date, or at least not any date that Chris has ever been on. That holds true as he packs into an elevator with Becca, the cameraman, the producer, and a few other members of the crew. They all stand in awkward silence while they zoom to the top floor of the building. From there, it’s down a hallway, through a door, and up a short flight of stairs before they’re emerging onto the windy rooftop. There are a few people there already, checking over equipment and chatting while they wait. Chris can see something mounted to the edge of the building and he perks up a little. “Is it bungee jumping? I’ve never been bungee jumping. And not because I don’t want to.”

Becca’s betrays nothing but excitement at whatever it is they’re going to be doing. “Let’s go find out!” She takes his hand — Chris manages not to flinch or grab it back out of instinct — and leads him to the edge of the building, where the wind buffets them more powerfully. “We,” Becca announces grandly, “are going to rappel back down.”

And despite it all, despite the fact that this entire situation is a farce on so many different levels, and despite the fact that Chris is spending every waking moment lying through his teeth, and despite the two cameras that are trained on him, Chris feels himself _light up_. “Really?” he exclaims. 

Becca nods, and she’s grinning again too. “Really. I thought this might be right up your alley.” 

Chris leans over to glance past the raised edge of the building. He feels his stomach swoop, and he loves it. “Aren’t you supposed to bring someone who’s afraid of heights to something like this? Doesn’t that make better television?” The words are out before he has can check them, and he can practically feel the weight of the multiple glares that are leveled on him.

“Well, I kind of did,” she admits. “I’m not sure how comfortable _I_ am about this whole idea.”

Oh. _Oh_. So that’s what they’re looking for: Chris in the role of protector. It’s good — as an actor, it gives him some direction. That and, contrary to everything he expected in this situation, Chris thinks that he’s genuinely starting to like Becca. He certainly doesn’t want to marry her, but it’s not a hardship to reach out and put an arm around her shoulders when he sees how anxious her face is as she inches closer to the precipice. “Hey, don’t be scared,” he says, and he feels her reach around to his back, her fingers fisting in his shirt as she leans forward to look. “This is going to be fun.”

“You think?” she asks, a little incredulous. When she looks up at him, she doesn’t look _terrified_ , but definitely in need of some reassurance. 

Chris scrubs his hand over her shoulder. “I don’t think. I know,” he declares, hoping to bolster her with the confidence of his own words.

Becca gives him a wavering smile, and they separate to start climbing into their harnesses. There are instructions, and then it’s time: they’re sitting on the edge of the building, facing backwards, and all they have to do is stand up and tip over the edge. Chris can’t _wait_ , but Becca is visibly shaking. “I didn’t think I would be _this_ nervous,” she says apologetically as they take their places. 

“Hey.” Chris finds himself reaching for her near hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “Don’t feel bad. It’s okay to be scared, but just think of how much fun it’s going to be, and how awesome you’re going to feel when we get to the bottom. You can do this.”

“Yeah?” she asks, her fingers going tight around his.

“Yeah. And besides, these people are not going to let you fall to your death. It would ruin the whole franchise.” 

He’s afraid he might have gone too far, but Becca — after staring at him incredulously for a beat — absolutely cracks up. Chris is pretty sure that’s more due to the adrenaline than what he said actually being funny, but either way, she releases his hand and says, “Okay, you’re right. Let’s do this.”

They step back to the edge again, and the rappelling instructor counts to three to make sure they lean back and over in tandem. Chris tilts back, and for one glorious, heart-stopping moment it does almost feel like he could fall, but then the ropes catch and he lets them take his weight until he’s horizontal to the ground, his feet planted firmly on the side of the building. He grins and glances over at Becca, who’s clinging to the ropes for dear life with her eyes pressed tight shut. “Hey,” he calls over, “are you okay?” 

Becca nods and manages to pry her eyes open. “I’m okay,” she says through clenched teeth. 

“The ropes have got you,” he tries to reassure her. “See? We’re not falling.”

“We’re not,” she echoes faintly.

“And we’re not going to either,” he adds. “The hard part is over — now we just get to have fun!” He lets himself slide down a little, and she follows a minute later.

“Fun,” she repeats, still sounding unconvinced.

“If you want, we can try to climb back up instead,” Chris offers. “But I think the other way will be much easier. And look much better on television.”

Becca snorts out a laugh. “Okay,” she says, and she actually relaxes a little. “Okay. Here we go.” She rappels down a bit more, then even farther. “This _is_ kind of fun,” she admits when Chris catches up to her.

“It is!” Chris exclaims, unable to hold back a grin. He lets himself drop again, kicking out from the wall at the same time to bounce down, and then they’re off. Becca grows bolder as they get closer to the ground, until they’re both laughing and springing off the side of the building, almost racing as they head toward the bottom. They’re back on terra firma far too quickly for Chris’s liking, and as soon as they’re untangled from their ropes, Becca bounds over to him and catches him in a tight hug.

“We did it!” she shouts happily.

“We did,” Chris confirms, still riding high on the experience. “You were awesome! I knew you could do it.” 

“Thanks to you,” she says, leaning back to beam at him. “Thank you. I’d still be shaking on the ledge up there if it weren’t for you.”

And that’s when everything screeches to a halt for Chris. Because _shit_ , she’s looking at him like… like she’s a woman who’s realizing that she might actually be interested in the man she’s on a date with, and that was _not_ supposed to happen. He carefully disengages from the hug in an effort to put some distance between them, literally and figuratively. “You’re giving me too much credit.” 

Becca shakes her head. “No way. You definitely got me through this one. And I’m glad you did; I had so much fun!” 

Chris’s mouth twitches into an uneasy smile. “I did too.”

It’s another moment when he almost comes clean. The _but_ (but this isn’t going to work out, but I’m only here to get on television, but I’m not interested in you that way seeing as you don’t have a dick, but I think I might be developing feelings for someone else here) is on the tip of his tongue, when production takes over again. In a flurry of activity, they’re out of their harnesses and back in their vans, on their way to change for dinner. Chris lets his guilt eat him alive the entire time, and resolves to be polite but distant during the meal, so maybe she’ll change her mind and not give him the rose at the end of it after all. 

That plan makes something unpleasant curl through the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t want to acknowledge why, but he does. If he gets sent home at the end of the date, that’s it. The production crew will pick up his suitcase from the house and he won’t get to say his goodbyes to anyone but Becca. And then Darren will either win Becca’s heart or be on his way back to New York, and that will be the end of that. Maybe it would be for the best, Chris muses, because there’s still a fairly good chance that he’s imagining that there’s anything suspicious about the way Darren’s been acting. 

Still, the thought of never seeing Darren again — or at least not until the reunion episode, by which time everything would most certainly be different — feels equivalent to a punch in the gut.

*

Despite everything, the dinner is… nice. Becca is sweet and quick-witted and easy to talk to, and it’s hard for Chris not to get drawn into the conversation when they start out talking about how amazing the rappelling was. From there, they cover the basics: their families, where they grew up, their careers and aspirations. If the situation had been different, Chris thinks that Becca is someone he would have liked to be friends with.

There’s a rose on the table in a shallow dish, as subtle as an elephant in the corner. It’s impossible to ignore, and Chris keeps glancing over, unsure if he wants Becca to offer it to him or not. If she does, he goes back to the house, and if she doesn’t, he goes straight home. Both options certainly have their appeal.

Eventually, Becca does reach over and pick it up, twirling it in her fingers. “Chris…” she starts, then glances up at him and smiles. “I had a really good time today, and I hope you did too. Will you accept this rose?”

It would be more honest to say no, to gently explain and not dig the hole he’s in any deeper. 

He thinks about Darren, and the time they’ve spent together and the fact that if he accepts Becca’s invitation to stay, there will be more of it. And surely she’ll choose to cut Chris sooner rather than later, which would save him from having to explain everything to her. Sure, that’s how he’ll rationalize it. 

So, feeling like the lowest, most selfish creature on earth, Chris says, “Yes. I will.”

Becca grins wider and fastens the rose to his lapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find the fic post on tumblr [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/128512829512/the-right-reasons-crisscolfer-fic).


	3. Chapter 3

More days pass. There’s another rose ceremony, where Chris is already safe because he has the rose from the one-on-one. He watches, buzzing with mild anxiety, until Darren gets a rose too, and then it’s just another long ( _long_ ) night of standing around. 

Their next group date is a color run, and Chris doesn’t know exactly what that is until he’s standing at the starting line in a black t-shirt that says _Color Me_ on the front in letters that are glowing under the blacklight headlamps that all the participants are wearing. Because it’s not just a color run, it’s a _nighttime_ color run, where they’ll all get sprayed with neon-colored cornstarch along the way. Chris sighs and shifts from foot to foot while he waits to actually get moving. The starting gun had sounded at least five minutes ago, but they’re near the back of the group, which has yet to do anything other than shuffle forward a few steps. The whole color run thing isn’t a bad idea, and it would probably be a lot of fun… with a different group of people, under completely different circumstances. They’ve even got extra bags of color powder that they can throw at each other. Chris can’t find it in himself to be terribly excited about the whole thing. 

There are just a lot of people, thousands of people, all crammed into the starting area like cattle. It does mean that he and Darren have been forced into closer proximity than ever before — because of course Darren is standing next to him — but all the other guys are jammed in around them, and so is Becca, which does make that fact a little less exciting. Darren, unsurprisingly, is practically bouncing with excitement. “This is so cool!” he shouts into Chris’s ear, for what must have been the fifth time that evening.

“Should be fun,” Chris replies, but he knows it’s lacking enthusiasm.

Darren actually notices. “What’s wrong?” he asks, angling his body in toward Chris’s.

“Nothing.”

It doesn't seem to fool Darren, who watches Chris closely for another few seconds before he nudges him and leans in closer. “Afraid I’m going to beat you?”

Chris snorts. “What?”

“In the race,” Darren explains, nodding toward the starting line.

“It’s a non-competitive event, Darren. And we’re stuck in the walking group anyway so the cameras can keep up with us.”

“So you’re afraid I’m going to walk faster than you?” 

Chris is saved from having to answer when they finally, _finally_ start forward and Darren lets out a whoop, tossing a handful of neon green in the air. He’s not the only one — little bursts of color appear around them, and when Chris looks down at his arms, they’re speckled and glowing under his headlamp. 

As the _Bachelorette_ group makes its way along the course, most of the guys spend their time either trying to throw their colored powder onto Becca — and she retaliates valiantly — or trying to protect Becca from the others and fighting amongst themselves. Darren, on the other hand, seems hellbent on making sure Chris is as colorful as possible. Chris is hesitant at first, but then lets himself get caught up in the game, because with all the people tossing color around in the dark, it probably won’t be obvious to anyone else that they’re only focused on each other. 

So he runs and ducks and gets as much of his neon yellow powder on Darren as he can and he _laughs_ , because okay yeah, this is fun with the right people in the right circumstances. When they’ve both finally exhausted their supplies, he and Darren settle in to finish the walk together, and Chris thinks they both must look ridiculous. Darren does, his hair disheveled and glowing, his face streaked and spattered with neon and wearing a mischievous grin. Wait. 

“Why are you looking at me like —” Chris starts, but he doesn’t get any farther before Darren is grabbing him and dumping the remnants of a bag of neon pink into his hair, noogie-ing it in for good measure. Chris shouts and struggles but Darren’s hold on him is strong and — 

They both freeze. Because Darren has an arm wrapped around Chris and a hand in Chris’s hair, and they’re way, way, _way_ too close together, their faces glowing bright in each other’s headlamps just inches apart. 

Chris pushes himself away and aims himself numbly toward the finish line again, walking on feet he can barely feel. 

Too far. It’s going too far now.

*

He and Darren stay carefully separated at the post-race celebration, and Chris beelines for the back seat in the van on the way back to the mansion, while Darren stays up near the front. The guys all start taking showers as soon as they arrive, but Chris dawdles, wanting to be last. Wanting to be alone. 

When the coast finally seems clear, he claims the giant bathroom for his own, taking a moment to look into his own tired eyes in the mirror, trying to ignore the stupid color powder all over his face. He needs to get kicked off this show, and he needs to go home. Seeing as he’d barely said two words to Becca the entire night, maybe he’ll get lucky this week. He takes off his mic and tugs his t-shirt over his head, dropping it straight into the garbage can. He doesn’t really need any momentos of this experience. 

The soft _click_ of the door shutting behind him makes him jump, and Chris whirls to see Darren standing there, his expression solemn despite the fact that his face is still neon. Chris barely manages to fight back a wave of irritation that makes him want to yell; instead, he hisses out, “Darren, _what_ —”

Darren shushes him, raising one finger to his lips. He’s in just his athletic shorts, and he’s got his microphone pack in one hand. He sets it on the counter next to Chris’s, then wraps them both securely in a towel. “Like _that_ isn’t going to seem suspicious,” Chris mutters. “What are you doing?”

“We should probably talk,” Darren whispers.

“No shit,” Chris snaps, as quietly as he can. “So talk.” 

Darren shakes his head but doesn’t say anything, and he turns to reach into the shower stall and turn on the water. Chris thinks it’s just going to be for the noise, for the privacy, and he watches with shock as Darren steps in a moment later, still in his swim trunks. He snags Chris’s wrist with one hand and pulls him in after.

Chris goes, like he could help it, sputtering as he’s pulled through the spray. He reaches up to wipe the water from his face and the colored powder that’s washing away with it, but suddenly there are other hands helping him, Darren’s hands, warm and wet on his skin as they slide over his forehead, along his cheekbones, smooth back his hair. Chris clumsily tries to help, before giving up because he’s just getting in the way. “Darren, what are you —?”

Darren stills, and he’s cupping Chris’s jaw between both palms. Chris freezes, his eyes flying open, taking in the color smearing down Darren’s face at close range while his heart stabs his breastplate in a quick rhythm, like it’s trying to jackhammer its way straight out of his chest. “Sshhh,” Darren says, low, almost noiseless, as his gaze trips down Chris’s face to land on his lips. And Chris knows — he knows it’s going to happen, and circumstances be damned, he isn’t going to stop it. Not after everything that’s happened and not when they’re here, alone, in the only room in this godforesaken house that locks, and not when it’s the only chance he might have. He forces his own hands, still frozen from flailing near his face, down to Darren’s forearms, grips there but doesn’t use them to resist the way Darren is tugging him forward. Then all that’s left is for Darren to seal his lips over Chris’s. And he does.

Chris kisses back hard and fast, because he wants to, and it’s messy, and he’s still half under the water while Darren’s fingers curl into the dampening hair at the base of his skull. He tries not to question it or to worry about how fucked up the entire situation is — or how _cheesy_ it is that they’re hiding in the shower to make out. _Who has their first kiss in the shower?_ he finds himself wondering. _It’s like the cover of some sleazy romance novel_. 

Summoning all his mental strength, Chris shuts that voice off. 

He listens, instead, to the rush of the water, to what he can hear of their ragged breathing and the connection of their lips over it. He opens his mouth for Darren’s tongue, then chases it back with his own. He listens to Darren when he murmurs “I’ve wanted to, so bad,” right into Chris’s ear, his voice barely audible over the shower. 

“I didn’t know —” Chris starts. Stops. “I didn’t know if you were… and this isn’t talking.”

“Sshhh,” Darren reminds him gently, and then he drops his mouth over Chris’s moving lips, kissing until Chris gives up talking and returns it. Darren pulls back, barely an inch, and whispers, “The walls have ears.”

Chris’s eyes flare open. “There are mics in here?” he asks, mouthing the words with almost no voice.

Darren shrugs. His lips move — _maybe, who knows_ — and they stare at each other for long seconds, the heavy weight of risk versus reward in their eyes. Chris snaps the tension with a quick shrug of his own, and then they’re kissing again, lush at first but bleeding into insistent, until Chris finds himself with his back against the cold shower tile, Darren pressing warm and wet along his front where the warm, wet air isn’t already touching him. Chris would have expected the moment to be frantic, but it’s not quite that, because they’re trying to be discreet — even in a locked room by themselves, the paranoia of the _Bachelorette_ environment is still swirling around them — and they’re trying to be quiet. 

It’s hot and awkward all at once. They’re still in their athletic shorts, for fuck’s sake, the material clinging as Chris’s dick starts to make its interest known. He can feel the answering press of Darren’s hard length against him — or maybe he’s the one who’s answering — and he slick-slides his hands over Darren’s dripping back, up then all the way down, where he runs his fingertips along the skin just above Darren’s waistband, panting into the air as Darren kisses his neck. “You can do it,” Darren murmurs into his clavicle. 

“Do what?” Chris asks.

“Whatever you want,” Darren replies, in between the time he’s spending licking water off Chris’s throat. “Whatever you’re thinking about.”

Chris hums thoughtfully and sticks his fingers down under the wet fabric, teasing down into the top of Darren’s ass crack and then digging into the thick, rounded flesh on either side. “What if I’m thinking about this?”

“Then you should definitely do it,” Darren groans, low, following the squeezing of Chris’s hands to roll his hips, grinding his erection into Chris’s thigh. 

“What about this?” Chris grabs Darren’s waistband again and inches it down. His heart is thundering; it’s bolder than he might otherwise be, but Darren certainly doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You should fucking do it,” he says. 

Darren shifts his body away, Chris maneuvers the shorts down, they hit the floor of the shower with a wet _slap_ , and Darren kicks them away. His cock is thick and ruddy and rock hard. 

“Yeah,” Darren purrs. He reaches down to bunch up the material of Chris’s shorts, wadding the material in his fingers until the backs of his knuckles are grazing the bare skin of Chris’s thighs. Chris has no idea what he’s trying to accomplish, but eventually he just drops it all again and runs the flats of his palms up Chris’s abdomen, purposefully dragging up each side of Chris’s erection. Chris muffles a whine and is only too eager to help Darren get his shorts off completely.

When they’re gone, Darren plasters himself against Chris again, kissing him with a wet, open mouth and using one hand, wiggled in between their bodies, to better line up their cocks. And _jesus fucking christ_ , this is all going so fast — Chris is naked in _The Bachelorette_ shower with another guy, and there could be cameras outside the door straining to hear their every noise, and they’re going come together thrusting just like this, _just like this_ , because it feels so fucking good. At least that’s what Chris thinks, until Darren tears himself away from Chris’s mouth and drops to his knees. 

He takes Chris’s hips in his hands and looks up, a clear question in his eyes. Chris mouths _are you sure?_ and he’s not sure if Darren gets it or not, but he answers either way, actually nuzzling into Chris’s groin, then drawing the tip of his tongue in a slippery, crooked line all the way up Chris’s cock. “I want this,” he says, low, and somehow it carries all the way up to Chris’s ears. 

Well then. Chris isn’t sure whether Darren means the cock or the experience, but he nods all the same.

As far as blowjobs go, it’s low on finesse but high on enthusiasm, which suits Chris just fine. Darren takes him fast and deep, deep enough that he sputters a little but manages not to gag. His fingers curl hard into Chris’s hips, but he recovers quickly, sucking and licking in a frenzy of activity as Chris cautiously grips Darren’s wet hair. He rocks his hips, gently at first, and then with more urgency as Darren draws harder on his cock, swallowing around him and urging him on with hands pressed tight into Chris’s skin. It’s all going to be over really, really fast, but it seems like that’s what Darren’s aiming for, so Chris chases his orgasm with abandon, shoving his dick roughly into Darren’s mouth. And when Darren snakes one hand up to press into the tender space behind his balls, rubbing back and forth, he catches it. Or rather, he _loses_ it, choking off his groans in his throat as his orgasm explodes out from his belly, jerking as he empties his cock down Darren’s throat. 

Darren sucks him through it, until Chris is shuddering and oversensitive, and he tugs Darren’s hair and whines softly in protest, still not wanting to make too much noise. It takes a few tries, but Darren finally gets the message and lets Chris’s dick slide out, wet and used, like he’s reluctant to see it go. With no reason to stay standing, Chris gives in to the pull of gravity against his shaking legs, slumping to the floor of the shower to join Darren, splaying his feet out messily on either side of where Darren is kneeling. He watches Darren pant through swollen lips, then glances down to find that his dick is jutting up, hard and desperate and, as far as Chris can tell, untouched. 

He’ll have to fix that.

Darren moans when Chris’s hand closes over him, and it’s Chris’s turn to shush. Darren’s cock is fat and slippery with shower water, solid and so hot in Chris’s hand, and he jerks it hard, echoing Darren’s efforts to bring him off fast. “Fuck,” Darren gasps, “ _Chris_.” He writhes, and he doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands, and he’s already steadily leaking precome that Chris smears down the length of him. “Gonna blow in like… two seconds.”

“Okay,” Chris says, and he surprises even himself as he bends at the waist, leaning forward to hover his face over Darren’s dick, close enough, he thinks, that he’ll get it. And he would never, he would _never_ , not the first time with someone new, but thank the god he doesn’t believe in for those stupid STD tests, because it means they can do everything that they’ve done so far and everything that they’re about to do. 

“ _Shit!_ ” Darren wheezes, and his hands clasp over the back of Chris’s skull as his cock dances in Chris’s hand, and he comes, spurting up onto Chris’s cheek and jaw, then dribbling down over the tight ring of his fingers. 

*

“We have to tell her,” Chris says quietly, breaking the awkward silence that reigns as they towel off. 

Darren nods, but protests a minute later: “But if we do that, we’ll get sent home, and the contract says we’re not supposed to see each other until after the show airs. Which would fucking suck, because that’s months from now. Why not just… let her decide? She likes us both. Maybe we’ll get more time.”

“You would want to — see each other?” Chris asks, glancing over at Darren, who’s sitting on the edge of the tub now, his towel wrapped around his waist.

Darren’s brow wrinkles. “Um, duh.”

“Oh,” Chris says. “Oh. I thought maybe this was just a —” he waves one hand in the direction of the shower “— kind of thing.”

“Was it for you?” Darren asks. “Because I’ve been having fun hanging out with you these past couple weeks. That’s why I’ve been doing it so much.” 

Chris smiles a little, self-consciously. “No, I’ve been having fun too.” 

“Good.” Darren beams. 

Chris ties his towel more securely and leans against the wall, watching Darren closely. “So I’m guessing you aren’t completely straight, then.” 

The unspoken question brings a definite smirk to Darren’s lips. “When did I give myself away? It was the cock sucking, wasn’t it?”

“Darren…”

“Okay, okay,” he relents. “No, I’m… I don’t know. Bisexual, I guess. Everyone-sexual, maybe. I’m pretty equal opportunity, you know? I’m definitely you-sexual.”

“Spoken like a true romantic,” Chris retorts. He’d kind of been hoping that maybe Darren would have said _gay_ , and he’d be able to feel like less of an asshole for being on the show at all. Or maybe just as much of an asshole, but at least not alone in his jackassery. Which reminds him, this charade has gone on long enough. “Okay. That’s good to know,” he says, “and now we need to figure out how we’re going to tell her.” 

Darren pouts a little. It’s stupidly attractive, especially when he’s half-naked with his damp hair curling around his ears. “Do you really think we should?”

“Yes,” Chris says firmly. “I’m tired of lying about everything, and I feel like shit about leading her on.”

“So do I,” Darren admits.

“Okay, then. When should we do it?”

Darren appears to consider that. “Maybe we should sleep on it,” he says after a few moments of silence. “It’s late and I’m fucking tired, and honestly, still a little come-dumb.”

Chris rolls his eyes, but finds it hard to argue. “All right,” he consents. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

*

_Darren Criss — Video Interview_

“Yeah — yeah. I guess, I mean… I just never imagined that anything like this would happen, you know? [ _beep_ ] Sorry, but I guess you guys realize by now that I’m going to swear a lot in these things and you’re going to have to put in a lot of beeps. Anyway, [ _beep_ ]. I never thought that when I came on _The Bachelorette_ , it would end with me having to tell her that I’m falling for one of the other guys. [ _beep_ ], did I just say falling for? And hooked up with. I just always thought I’d explain about my sexuality and all that [ _beep_ ] if I was the one, you know? Or at least further down the road. I mean, it doesn’t really have any bearing, right? I would have been happy to end up with Becca. But it looks like I’m ending up with… with someone else instead. If he'll let me.”

*

The next day doesn’t go exactly as planned. There’s a date card, much earlier than expected, and before Chris has any opportunity to talk to Darren, they’re all gathered around to hear Jacob read it. It’ll be a one-on-one date, and Chris just wants to get this part over with so he and Darren can strategize. He’s barely paying attention as Jacob draws the card slowly out of the envelope and announces: “Chris!” _What?_

Chris’s head jerks up in surprise when Jacob pauses to look at him significantly. _Another_ one-on-one? He and Becca had fun together, sure, and they seem to get along all right, but Becca can’t seriously be interested in him, can she? A hand claps Chris’s shoulder, and someone else punches his bicep, but then, Jacob continues: “…and Darren. Which one of you will ride off into the sunset?” The congratulatory response dissolves into a chorus of animated _oooohs_. 

Chris can feel Darren looking over at him, but he continues to stare blankly ahead. He’s certain that there’s a camera trained on his face too, but he’s not worried about that, because he’s pretty sure that he’s supposed to look distressed at the prospect of going on a two-on-one date. Everyone on this stupid show dreads it, because it’s awkward and weird and one person goes home automatically before it’s even over. Well, Chris thinks, this one will probably be the most awkward two-on-one ever, because he’s willing to bet that never before in the history of the show have the two contestants had sex _with each other_. 

That’s just the tip of the horrible iceberg, and Chris keeps plunging to find new depths each time he thinks about what it all means: that whatever’s going on between Darren and him hasn’t gone unnoticed. And of _course_ it hadn’t — they’d disappeared into the bathroom alone in the middle of the night, when they’d _known_ that their activities are monitored twenty-four hours a day. So production definitely knows, and worst of all, Chris’s narrative on the show is now going to be _guy who got inappropriately close to one of the other contestants_ , and no one is going to buy a children’s book with that on the sleeve. 

He tries to be indignant about that and ignore the other obvious truth: it means that either he or Darren will be going home tonight. Their time together is effectively done already, and the thought stings Chris harder than he had expected, especially when he’d been the one who was so eager to come clean to Becca and end the whole farce. He wants to be okay with it; more than anything he wants to shrug it off, go back to his apartment, and spend days with his laptop, atoning for its neglect. It’s a fling, just a fling — a meaningless tryst that was going to ruin Chris’s career more than he had already done himself — fleeting by its very definition. 

And Chris will be going home, of that he has little doubt. Becca and Darren have a spark that’s real, so she’ll choose to keep him around, and maybe he’ll even forget his night with Chris entirely and be the one to win her heart in the end. And Chris — Chris would be back in his apartment, eating takeout and watching it all unfold on national television. Except that he isn’t sure that he can stomach watching his own ruination play out over weeks, so he’ll probably wait for the bullet pointed recaps from his team. If he still has a team, when it’s all said and done.

The cameras cut and the guys start to disperse. Chris tries to dart out of the room, even though he knows it’s futile, and one of the producers grabs his arm before he even takes four steps. “Chris,” she says, sounding wickedly opportunistic. “You seem upset.” 

Chris crosses his arms over his chest, then thinks better of it and yanks them back down to his sides. “Of course I am,” he replies as evenly as he can. “No one wants to go on a two-on-one date; it means there’s a fifty percent chance you’re going home.” And a one hundred percent chance that his relationship with Darren — such as it had been — is over. 

“And that would be bad for your career, right?” she needles him. “No more publicity? Because that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It’s obviously not for Becca.”

“I don’t care about publicity,” Chris mutters. 

The producer arches an eyebrow. “So what do you care about? Is this about Darren?”

Chris freezes, then glowers. They may know, but that doesn’t mean he has to give anything away. “Why would this be about Darren?” 

She’s watching him shrewdly, and Chris feels every muscle in his body draw tighter in response. There’s a dull pain forming between his shoulder blades, and another in his temples. “You two have gotten really close,” she finally observes. “Everyone knows it. We all have eyes, you know. It’s no secret that the two of you spent some alone time in the bathroom last night. And Darren’s told us some stuff too.” 

An expression of surprise sweeps over Chris’s face before he can help it, and he feels his face flush hotly. “He did? Of course he did. He’s Darren; he can’t shut up.” _Fuck_. He probably shouldn’t have said that.

“So why don’t you tell us your side of the story?” 

Chris snaps his jaw shut. “No thank you,” he growls, and then pushes past her and out of the room.

*

Chris is packing up his suitcase with one of the cameras rolling to get some establishing shots when there’s a tiny knock on the door. He glances over to see Darren standing there, hand still raised, somehow managing to smile while looking somber and nervous at the same time. “Hey, Chris. Got a minute?”

Chris’s first instinct is to shoot an anxious glare at the cameraman, who’s still tucked into the corner of the room, capturing everything, but he manages not to. “What’s up?” he replies, aiming for breezy in the hopes that he’ll land somewhere near neutral. 

He hears Darren’s feet shuffle against the floor, but he stays focused on the task at hand. “I just…” Darren starts. “I just wanted to say that, uh — I’m really glad we were both here, and that we got the chance to meet each other. No matter what happens tonight.” 

“What happens tonight is that one of us goes home,” Chris says crisply as he folds a t-shirt and jams it down into his suitcase. “But it was nice to meet you too.”

Darren is quiet, and finally Chris is forced to look over at him again. Now Darren’s face is just somber — and hurt and sad. “You’re angry,” he observes. 

“Just that I got myself into this mess in the first place.” Chris viciously yanks a stack of clothes aside to wedge in a pair of flip flops. “I should have just stayed home.” 

“Well, I’m fucking glad you didn’t.”

“That makes one of us,” Chris mutters. 

He can immediately feel the hurt in Darren’s silence, and when he grudgingly looks back up, he sees it echoed in Darren’s somber expression, the tightness in his mouth, the confusion in his eyes. That might be the worst part of all. “You really wish you hadn’t come here at all?” Darren finally asks. His voice is different. Quiet.

Chris doesn’t back down. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like he can’t. “Maybe it would have been better that way.”

There’s a long, awkward pause. “Yeah,” Darren says unconvincingly. “Maybe.”

“I’m just not looking forward to being humiliated on national television, all right?” Chris bursts out, flipping the lid of his suitcase violently closed. “One of my very few goals when I came on this show was to _not_ be humiliated on national television, and look at me now.” 

“You’re not going to be _humiliated_ —” 

“Yes, I am!” Chris snaps. “And you are too. I don’t know how you can be so blase about it.”

Darren shrugs helplessly. “I don’t think it’s going to be that bad. And then people will move on to something else — the general public has the attention span of a fucking goldfish for entertainment news, y’know? There are more important things.” 

All the fight goes out of Chris at once. He’s still twisted up inside, and still angry, but maybe it’s more at himself than anything or anyone else. There _are_ more important things — like the fact that his career, which has been circling the drain, is about to be flushed straight down — but he certainly can’t say that, not with the camera in the corner. He suspects Darren is talking about something else anyway, but that’s not something they can talk about either. Although if they could, Chris would tell him that he wishes, as much as he wishes for anything, that he’d met Darren some other way, some other time, some other place. 

“Maybe there are, and maybe there aren’t,” Chris says. “I don’t know if it really matters right now.” 

Darren’s shoulders had already been slumped, but he manages to deflate to a whole new level. “It doesn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Chris repeats. He looks evenly at Darren, catching his gaze and holding it. “I am glad that I got the chance to meet you.” It’s a simple thing, but it’s honest, and he feels stripped down to the bone saying it. 

Darren purses his lips, nods. “So am I.”

“Good luck tonight,” Chris adds.

“You too.” Darren gives him one last inscrutable look, then he’s gone.

*

The date is, in fact, even more awkward than Chris could have imagined. They ride horses on the beach, and they make stilted conversation about how much time they’ve spent riding horses before (which is, cumulatively, not much) and how beautiful the weather is. Chris is crabby, sunburnt, and sore by the time they’re done filming them on horseback, which probably isn’t the best mood to carry into the difficult conversation ahead. But, finally, the sun is setting, and it’s time.

They settle uncomfortably onto a blanket, Becca in the middle with Darren and Chris on either side. There’s a picnic basket waiting nearby, and Becca pours them each a glass of wine, but otherwise they wait in tense silence. Chris doesn’t break it, choosing instead to take a gulp of his pinot and squint out toward the sinking sun, the water crawling up the shore toward them and receding with each wave. 

It’s Becca who finally speaks. “I just want both of you to know that I had a really great time today,” she starts.

“Send me home,” Darren blurts out, the moment she pauses for breath.

Chris’s head snaps up. “What?”

Darren shakes his head across at Chris, then turns back to Becca, taking one of her hands. Chris blinks at the two of them uncomprehendingly. “Becca, I think you are completely awesome,” Darren continues, “and you are definitely going to make one of the guys here so happy. But I know you have to send one of us home today, and I don’t think the romantic chemistry is there for us, so it should be me. You should send me home.”

Becca doesn’t answer right away, but it doesn’t take very long before she responds with, “Okay.”

“ _What_?” Chris gasps. It’s beyond his comprehension that she might choose him to stay over Darren, and he realizes in flash that it means he’ll be there — on the show, hanging out at the house, in front of the cameras — without Darren there as a buffer to blunt how ridiculous and horrible it all is. He has to speak up.

Chris is fumbling for the words he wants to use, better words than the ones that are in his head, when Becca turns around, reaching out with her free hand to snag one of his. She holds his limp fingers tightly. “I’m sending you both home,” she announces, and Chris finds himself gaping again. “I’m not giving a rose to either one of you.” 

“You’re not?” Darren asks, and Chris can hear something different in his voice, something that Chris realizes belatedly is a note of hope. Chris just reels and waits, his palm sweating in Becca’s grasp.

“No,” she says firmly. “You are both wonderful men, but it’s clear that you like each other much more than you’ll ever like me.”

Chris’s heart is thudding in his chest, fear maybe, or excitement. Maybe just plain terror. He’s not sure. The wind is blowing in off the water, and he feels like it’s going right through him, taking all rational thought with it. Even though he’d started the day wanting to tell the truth, he could still deny it, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to be outed on national television after years of carefully guiding his private life. His team would probably love that — _think of the publicity!_ — but Chris really doesn’t give a fuck, and he’s not making his decisions based on any of that anymore. He sneaks a peek at Darren, catches sight of a slow-growing smile on Darren’s face and feels his own stomach spasm with nerves. 

Because he could admit it. He’s been lying since the cameras started rolling, and lying by omission for much longer than that, and he feels like he’s reaching some kind of breaking point. The breaking point, he suspects, is sitting on the other side of Becca, and it’s name is _Darren_ , and the fact that Chris wants a chance to openly explore the very real, very terrifying feelings that he’s having. Whether his hand is being forced or not.

Speaking of hands, he gives Becca’s a weak squeeze and takes a single, fortifying breath. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

She smiles, but it’s wry. “Chris, I should be honest with you. I recognized you as soon as you stepped out of the limo that first night, and I’ve been suspicious of your intentions for being here the whole time. And I mean, I’m still guessing that you weren’t really here for me, in the beginning. Or ever, I guess. But you ended up being here for the right reasons in the end, didn’t you?”

Chris colors, and he can feel Darren’s gaze, heavy on him and waiting. “Yeah,” he finally says, with a nod. “I guess I did.” 

Becca lets their hands go and wraps her arms around her knees. “I promise I’ll invite you guys to my wedding if you invite me to yours.”

“What? Oh my god —” Chris sputters, and from Becca’s other side, he hears Darren choke on a sip of wine. “I think it might be a _little_ early to be talking about weddings.”

“I know,” Becca says with a low chuckle. “But you should have seen your faces.”

Darren laughs along with her. “You really think you’re going to get married after all this?” 

She shrugs, and Chris catches the small, private smile on her face as she looks out at the darkening ocean. “Who knows? Maybe. I really like a couple of them. Stranger things have happened. Like two of my bachelors falling for each other.”

Chris snorts and takes another drink from his wineglass, then sets it aside. “Can I ask you something, Becca?”

“Of course,” she replies, turning to face him and resting her head on her knees.

“When did you know? That something was going on, I mean? _How_ did you know?” Hell, Chris hadn’t even been sure until the night before.

Becca faced forward again. “Well, I mean, it was obvious that you two were becoming really good friends, at least. We _all_ could see that. It seemed like you guys were flirting during some of the group dates and cocktail parties, but I didn’t really think a lot of it at first. We _are_ on a dating show, so I figured it was just my overactive imagination. But it just kept happening, and then last night, towards the end of the race? There was a moment — it seriously looked like you guys were about to kiss.” 

Chris flushes, and Darren says, a little sorrowfully, “That would have been a fucking awesome first kiss.”

“Oh my god,” Chris mutters.

“What, you don’t think so?”

“I think… we should let Becca finish explaining.”

Chris expects Becca to be annoyed, but she just looked amused. “Well, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. A couple of the guys came to my room last night and told me they were worried that something was going on with the two of you, and that they didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“They _did_?” Chris asks, feeling an unexpected hot flush of anger.

“They did,” Becca confirms, “but it wasn’t like I didn’t already suspect. They told me a little bit more, and it was like all the pieces just fell into place. Between when I’ve seen and what they’d noticed, it just — made sense. So I asked production if I could take you both on a two-on-one today, and here we are. I thought it would be the best way to end this for everyone, with the least amount of drama.”

They all look out at the water for a few quiet seconds, and then Darren asks, “Are you mad?”

Becca doesn’t answer right away. “Kind of, at first,” she finally replies. “But I do like you both, and you seem really happy when you’re together, so it was hard for me to stay that way. Plus, I think I’m really starting to develop feelings for one of the other guys, so I think it’s all going to work out for the best. For everyone.”

“Ooooh,” Darren teases her, and Chris turns to see him nudging Becca’s arm. “Who is it? You should tell us.”

But Becca just laughs and shakes her head. “You’ll see when you watch the show!” She drains her glass and moves to stand. “I think that’s my cue to leave. I’m so glad I had a chance to meet and spend time with both of you, and I really do wish you both the best of luck.”

Chris pulls himself slowly to his feet and lets her wrap him up in a tight hug. “Thank you for… for being so understanding about this,” he murmurs, squeezing back. “I don’t think I would have been.”

“Maybe you just caught me on a good day,” she retorts, her eyes twinkling as she pulls away. She hugs Darren, gives him a similar farewell, and then she’s walking away with one of the cameras and the crew following her every move.

Chris watches her go, and then turns back to Darren, feeling strangely unsure. “So. What do we do now?” He looks around at the production crew for some guidance, but they just keep filming and waiting.

“Well, I’d hate to let this picnic go to waste,” Darren speaks up. “Or this sunset. What do you say?”

“Seriously?” Chris says, swinging his surprised gaze to Darren’s.

“Seriously.” Darren gestures gallantly to the blanket. “Shall we? Honestly, it’s probably better than any first date I’d ever plan,” he adds after a beat.

Moving slowly, Chris lowers himself to sit again while Darren starts rummaging in the basket. He sets out a few containers of berries and chocolates, and then starts to laugh. “Check it out!” he exclaims, pulling out a rose and holding it up delightedly. He shuffles across the blanket on his knees until he’s right next to Chris, extending it towards him. “Chris, will you accept this rose?”

Chris rolls his eyes. 

But he says yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find the fic post on tumblr [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/128512829512/the-right-reasons-crisscolfer-fic).


	4. Epilogue - After the Final Rose

Chris wonders why everything related to _The Bachelorette_ has to make him feel like he’s going to vomit. He’s backstage at the live taping of the _After the Final Rose_ show, watching Becca and her new fiance gush about how happy they are and waiting to step in front of the cameras and give an update on his own life. 

Darren appears suddenly beside him, holding out a glass of water. When Chris takes it, Darren sits beside him and starts sweeping his open palm slowly up and down Chris’s back. “Are you going to be okay?”

After a long, refreshing drink, Chris says, “Define _okay_.”

“Are you going to puke on Chris Harrison’s shoes when we get out there?” 

Chris snorts. “Probably not, no.” 

“Well, there you go. If you’re not going to puke, what’s the worst that could possibly happen? Everyone’s already known about us for weeks. And they fucking love us.”

“A lot of them do,” Chris says, “and a lot of them don’t.” He takes another sip of his water. “This could just be a disaster in so many ways. I can’t believe we have to go sit in front of a live studio audience and talk about our love life.” It’s a contractual obligation Chris had agreed to long ago, one that he didn’t think would have any bearing on him, because back then, he couldn’t have imagined forming an actual romantic relationship on _The Bachelorette_.

Darren just shrugs, seeming largely unbothered. “Well, we don’t have to tell them any of the dirty details. Unless you want to.”

“Sure, I’ll just describe last night in graphic detail,” Chris quips. He empties his glass and sets it aside. “We can both show off our bruises.”

The scary part is, Darren would probably be all too happy to do just that. He stretches out his legs and grins wolfishly. “We haven’t seen each other in almost two weeks. What did you expect?”

“Pretty much exactly what happened,” Chris says. “It’s almost a shame that after this, we won’t have to sneak around anymore.” 

Darren’s leaning in to reply — probably with something depraved, not that Chris minds — when there’s a knock on the door. Chris’s heart caroms back back up into his throat. “Okay,” Darren says, bouncing up from the couch and holding out a hand for Chris. “That’s us!”

“That’s us,” Chris repeats weakly.

*

Chris Harrison introduces them with a series of clips from their time on the show, so Chris gets to watch on the monitor as he and Darren meet each other, flirt, flirt some more, almost kiss at the color run, disappear one after the other into the bathroom at the mansion, and then settle down on a beach blanket to share a picnic after Becca had kicked them off. It’s still a little shocking to see the amount of chemistry between them, even though Chris had watched it all already on his own television — or Darren’s. When the video ends, Chris Harrison glances over his shoulder at the audience and asks, “So, are you all ready to see what Chris and Darren are up to now?”

The audience whoops its approval, and Chris Harrison smiles into the camera. “I thought you might be. Let’s bring out this year’s Brokeback Bachelors — Chris and Darren!” 

Chris walks numbly out into the lights as the crowd continues to cheer. Darren, he’s sure, looks more comfortable, and they both greet Chris Harrison before settling side-by-side on the waiting sofa. Darren covers Chris’s hand comfortingly with his own, and Chris twists his around to grip it. 

“So,” Chris H. says, “I think the first question on everyone’s mind is whether or not you’re still together — but I’m not sure I even need to ask.” He nods toward their joined hands.

“We…” Darren pauses dramatically, clearly loving the spotlight “…are most definitely and very happily still together.” The audience goes crazy again, and Chris can’t help the grin that breaks across his face. While there had been some backlash to their relationship and the way it had started, he’s been stunned over and over again by the fact that most fans of the show support them wholeheartedly. 

Chris H. waits patiently for the noise to die down, and then he adds, “Of course, I think that’s something we all suspected anyway. Darren, you certainly caused a stir in the Twitterverse when you accidentally turned your location on and we all saw that you were in Clovis, California.”

Darren nods sheepishly. “Oops.”

“As if I wasn’t already stressed out enough that weekend, with you meeting my family,” Chris pipes up, and there’s an appreciative ripple of laughter. He’d actually been kind of pissed about it at the time, but he’s willing to laugh about it now.

“Chris, have you been surprised by people’s interest in and positive reaction to your relationship?” Chris H. asks, turning to face him. 

“I have been,” Chris says honestly. “I was afraid that people would be angry — I know that Becca is a very popular Bachelorette, and I know that her fans can be very protective.”

Darren squeezes his hand reassuringly. “I was glad that most people were able to see how naturally things developed between us, and were able to understand that it was never our intention to hurt her in any way. We both think that Becca is a wonderful person, and we’re very happy for her. We definitely plan to be at the wedding, whenever it ends up happening.”

There’s a smattering of polite applause. When it dies down, Chris H. takes over again. “So, speaking of Becca and Jacob, we know there will be wedding bells in their future. What about you guys? We hear you have some news for us tonight!”

That announcement draws some gasps from the audience, but Chris is already shaking his head. “No, no, there are no proposals happening tonight. Right?” he asks, glancing over at Darren. 

“Not tonight,” he says with a wink, and Chris arches an eyebrow. They’re definitely going to have some talking to do, but maybe he wouldn’t be completely opposed to the idea. Some day. In the distant future. “But I do want to share with everyone that Chris and I are going to be living together and splitting our time between LA and New York City.” 

The news brings more raucous cheers, of course. Chris pinks a little and Darren leans over to kiss his temple. 

“Chris, I know that you were very hesitant to appear on _The Bachelorette_. Would you say now that your thoughts have changed?” Chris H. asks him. 

It’s a leading question with an obvious answer, but Chris pauses to consider his words before he responds. “I didn’t believe that anyone ever really found love on the set of a reality TV show. But I think I might be wrong about that.”

He expects an immediate cacophony of shouts, but it doesn’t come. He looks anxiously over at the audience to see a woman actually blotting her face with a tissue, and then Darren’s pulling him into a hug, as best he can when they’re sitting on the sofa together. “Aw, Chris, I love you too,” he says right into Chris’s ear, and _then_ Chris hears the audience going wild. 

“Oh, shut up,” he whispers, and behind them, Chris Harrison throws it to commercial.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :) Find the fic post on tumblr [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/128512829512/the-right-reasons-crisscolfer-fic).


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